“Would that be Bedd Chwiorydd Tair?” said Herio as he untied his water skin and dismounted.
“Yes indeed,” said Philpott as he squatted to submerge his water bottle. “And you have no idea how huge they are unless you try to ride around them.”
“And you've done that?”
“Only about half way, and it was so much work that it wasn't worth the time it took.”
“Have you noticed these rocks?” said Herio as he had a seat on a large one of them. “They look like the Pitmaster's taffy.”
“Some would say that's just what that is. They used to tell me that rocks like that were thrown out of the tops of the mountains themselves, and were so blooming hot that they were soft as clay and glowed red hot and set the whole woods on fire. That's what they mean by calling these peaks 'vulcan mountains,' and why they named the whole range 'Pitmaster's Kettles.'“
“Well a-living close, like you grew up a-doing, did you ones ever see it?”
“Red hot? Fiddlesticks! That's just a damned creation story. If it ever happened at all, it was back at the beginning of time,” said Philpott, pausing for a swig. “I will say this, though. The further up ye go, the more rocks like that you'll see.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he studied the looming mountain tops. Crossbills rattled from a nearby pine. The unicorns took a step back from the stream and stood, keeping a unicorn fly in the air with a quiver of hide on their flanks here and there or an assertive swish of their tails. “I think we need to camp on the far side of that big stand of spruce trees over yonder, starting up the side of Mount Bedd and wait for Hubba Hubba and Maxi to show up from Dradn Deannaigh with the Gollian refugees, the goats and Bernard's damned baby.”
“Bernard's damned baby?”
“I don't reckon you heard him,” said Philpott with a chuckle. “That's what he kept calling Spitemorta's baby, and every time he did, the wet nurse kept agreeing with him. I 'bout died.”
“I sure hope Bernard and them are all right.”
“So do I, Herio.”
“Shouldn't Hubba Hubba and Maxi be here by now? Surely Spitemorta and the Gwaels wouldn't have got there soon enough to hold them up.”
“How do you know that they're not here? The foot of Mount Bedd takes in quite a bit of territory. We'll need Pebbles and the birds to find them from the air when they get here.”
“We're ready,” said Pebbles, swooping down from an aspen to strut back and forth in front of Philpott.
“Let's go!” chirped Tweet.
“Whoa!” said Philpott. “Not so fast. You might find them, but by the time you do that, we could be anywhere under the spruce trees. We'll be a lot harder to spot.”
“Why don't we just camp here and help the birds hunt?” said Herio.
“My orders are to see you straight there, Prince Herio. It'll take us all day to get to the far side of the spruce woods, so if we're traveling, you're going straight there. And hit's Spitemorta as has me worried. We don't want her spotting us from the air. That's why I'm taking advantage of the spruce trees. And I'm hoping we manage to pick a camp site that would hide all the Gollian refugees and the Damned Baby. So. Let's get going. And you birds stay with us until we reach Mount Bedd. Once we do that, you can search for Hubba Hubba without problems.”
***
The smaller crater of Mount Bed had a cleft in its rim that was far too narrow to and inaccessible from the outside to ever be ridden through. Over the eons it filled up with talus and fallen rock. Rodon discovered it shortly after he had been imprisoned there by Razzorbauch. He hated his confinement and spent every hour possible at first, hunting for ways to escape. Of course, the first thing he tried was to see if he could go out over the rim. Not only did he find this to be utterly impossible, but he also soon found that there was absolutely no place around the entire rim where he could raise his head against Razzorbauch's powerful magical wards enough to have any hope at all of peeping over. Meanwhile he did find the fissure, packed tight with talus. He started about half way down it, digging out one rock at a time until he came to a wee spot of light. Furiously he dug, panting, groaning and flinging spittle until he discovered to his grinding dismay that Razzorbauch's wards would never let him out. He collapsed onto the dirt in despair and closed his eyes. Suddenly he went wide eyed. “A port hole!” he squeaked. “A window to look out of.” And sure enough, he had a right good view over the path to the top and all the forest and lands about to the south and east. Every day he returned for a peek.
On this particular day, Rodon crawled into his fissure to have a look at the sunrise. With a muffled squeal, he shot out of the hole and raced down the sliding cinders, breathlessly lunging this way and that to keep from colliding with rocks as he found his way down to the cold ropes of lava at the very bottom of the crater. He hammered along in the close echoes of the lava tube with his meaty little feet until he reached the kitchen, lost his footing on a throw rug and landed with a thud on his side at the end of the board. Everyone having grits, egg in a hole and oak leaf tea shot to his feet to get a look at him.
“Rodon!” cried Nacea. “What ever have thou doon?”
“Tweye...” he said, gasping and heaving. “Tweye...! Tweye sowdyores...” With a grunt, he heaved himself onto his haunches. “Hit looketh liche un-to tweye sowdyores and sex or sevene crowes a kemp doun hulle ymaad and spende the nyght.”
Celeste helped him to the bench at the board as Alvita poured him a cup of tea.
“Only two?” said Razzmorten as he and Minuet traded frowns.
“Juste the tweye.”
“Celeste?” said Razzmorten. “Will I be able to scry them from my bedroom?”
“Certeynly, now that thou hast me ytold.” she said.
“I'm on my way.”
“How old are the soldiers, Rodon?” said Minuet as she watched Razzmorten leave.
“They arne mochel to fer awey, Ich am afered.”
“Certainly,” she said, “ It's a long way down the mountain. Did they have Niarg colors?”
“O myn worde. They sowdyores, ther ben. But blewe and argent? Grene and gold? The lighte nas nat good ynough for that.”
“They weren't wearing red and black, were they?”
“Ich am so sory, Eoure Magestee . Ich am nat evene seur that they was sowdyores.”
“We wouldn't know anything at all if you hadn't come and told us. And call me Minuet. I'm not even sure that I'm a queen, truth to tell.”
They looked up at the sound of riding heels pounding in the echoes to see Razzmorten come back 'round the corner. “It's Herio and Sergeant Philpott and they have at least some of the crows and sparrows with them,” he said. “I'll go find out what's happened. I'll be back, directly.”
“Please take me with you,” said Minuet. “I must know.”
“Let's go, then,” he said, holding out his hand to vanish with her the moment she took hold of it.
“O myn worde!” said Rodon wistfully. “Ich wonder if hee that with us koude done.”
“Thou knowest better than that,” said Celeste, shaking her weary head. “Thou verray wel knowest that oonly the Grete Staf of Power and the Cristal Herte, konnen to relesse us from oure prisoun. Hit bethe nat no acountynge wheither hee macches Razzorbauch whan hee konnen nat no thyng to done atte al with-outen hem.” And with that the room fell silent.
***
“Herio!” cried Minuet the moment they appeared and found him following something above the treetops from under the flat of his hand.
“Mother Minuet!” he cried, wheeling about. “Hey Razzmorten!”
“Minuet!” cawed Pebbles as she swooped down from the sky, to flutter before Minuet until she offered her wrist.
“Where are Hubba Hubba and the Snappers?” said Minuet, giving her a scratch at once.
“That's what we were just doing,” said Pebbles, running her beak down a flight feather. “Hubba Hubba and Maxi flew to Dradn Deannaigh to try to lead the Golls here with the Damned Baby before t
he Gwaels got there...”
“Damned baby?” said Minuet.
“Yea, sure is. And the Snappers and I were just starting to search for them when you and the Wiz showed up.”
“Pebbles! You're a mother. Just how is a baby ever damned?”
“Oh this one is. Captain Bernard said so and everything.”
For a moment, Minuet had not quite formed her next question.
“Bernard,” said Razzmorten. “Where is he? I'm sorry Minuet.”
“We left him under attack by the Gwaels, just this side of Jut Ford on the Loxmere River, four nights ago” said Herio.
“And the morning after we left, we sent Hubba Hubba and the biggest cockerel out of the brood to get everyone in Dradn Deannaigh to hightail it this way before Spitemorta and her Gwaels got there,” said Philpott as he appeared out of the brush to sweep off his hat and bow before Minuet.
“So hit worries me that we haven't seen them yet,” said Herio.
“Nay,” said Philpott. “I don't see any reason for that yet. All they had to do was to decide to come up Cwm Eryr from Ashmore and cross out of the Ash Mountains rather than come up the Eastern Pitmaster's Basin. If it were me, I think that's how I'd 'ave done it. There are far more places to hide up Cwm Eryr than coming up the Basin.”
Pebbles gave herself a thorough ruffling shake. “Well time to continue...” she said, going sleek and crouching to spring into flight.
“Wait!” said Razzmorten as he took his bag from his shoulder. “Let me scry them first. I've got my ball right here. In fact, go round up the Snappers. I'll probably have Hubba Hubba and Maxi located by the time you get back.”
Pebbles was in the air at once, winging up over the treetops. Razzmorten took out his scrying ball and began studying it at once as he backed up to a fallen spruce to have a seat. Everyone fell silent, watching. Wind sighed in the nearby spruce trees as a flock of waxwings gave rusty squeaks, settling onto branches 'round about. “There!” he said after a time. “There they are, 'way up in the Ash Mountains on this side of the Cwm. I see Hubba Hubba and Maxi. It'll take them a good day or better to get here. Goats? All kinds of them. Why bother with goats?”
“For the Damned Baby,” chorused Herio and Philpott.
“Now no one ever did expl...” said Minuet.
“I'm sorry,” said Razzmorten. “I simply must have everyone quiet. We know that Hubba Hubba and them are safe. I'm a-looking up and down the Loxmere for Jut Ford, just now and... Oh my word! The woods are simply full of corpses from both sides. This looks like Cwm Eryr itself, right after Hebraun got through with Goll. Somebody stay here to bring the birds. I'm going back inside to my bedroom to try and find out what on earth happened to Bernard and all of our soldiers.”
***
Ceidwad and Lladdwr sat patiently on their keel bones in the soft moss beside the Fairy ring, listening to the cactus wren as Ocker and Urr-Urr hopped and strutted about, snapping up beetles and centipedes.
“Ich selden ride,” said Meri as he took a careful step astride Lladdwr's broad back and settled himself. “Ich wolde to rekene that ye grete briddes yure wayes do preferren. How woldest thou have me to hengen on?”
“Merely get hold of a nice fistful of feathers on each side of my neck. Just avoid my windpipe, if you would.”
“To pullen out eny of hem Ich wolde hate .”
“You'd have to be as strong as Vyrpudi to do that.”
“Vyrpudi?”
“The troll we brought with us,” said Lladdwr.
“Thou yavest hit a name?”
“Why no. He had that name all along.”
“Myn word!” said Meri, taking careful hands full of the feathers on either side of Lladdwr's neck. “Dostow in dede the thynges langage to speke? Ther nis nat no Ffairye able swich a thyng to done.”
“Ceidwad and I have been very busy, but Arwr has been speaking with Vyrpudi for several days.”
The ravens flew off in different directions while this was going on and returned right away, Ocker with his stick and scrying marble and Urr-Urr with her onyx egg. Ocker parked his tools on the moss, sorted through the feathers of each wing, and shook himself. “Well?” he said, walking 'round to the front of Lladdwr and cocking his head. “We're ready then, are we?”
“I wasn't aware that you two were going,” said Ceidwad, lowering her head to look him in the eye.
“Just who are you, quiente?” said Ocker, bristling up his neck feathers. “Is your name Greenwood?”
“Comest or bydestow, to me hit al the same ybe,” said Meri with a laugh, “but in my personele afferes, brid, thou nolt nat bethe medlyng.”
“We're just making sure that nothing gets in the way of you seeing Celeste.”
“Fro the lyknesse of thou a goode torn, my derre brid? Hast thou a custumere in mynde for what thynk thou that thou art aboute to fynden out?”
“Hey! Knock off the swyving schyt. We're just squaring up and you know hit, hole. You need us along or Urr-Urr wouldn't have got the stone egg. So let's go. I've got deals going to waste.”
Meri gasped with both hands on his heart. “Oure raveyne hath spak,” he said. “Shal weo ga thanne?”
This was not Meri's only gasp, for without a word of warning, Ceidwad and Lladdwr sprang to their feet and shot down the perilously steep hillside.
Chapter 157
A bawdy melodic whistle reached into the black void of Spitemorta's sleep. She opened her eyes to see the bare canopy frame and ceiling joists above her. There was the whistle again. She threw aside her sheet, put her feet on the floor and saw the brilliant orange Baltimore oriole still singing in the maple beyond her open window. She slid the Staff across her lap and pointed. With a crackle of lavender, the branch collapsed popping and smoking as the bird flew. She was at the sill at once, peering out over the garden and the pastures beyond. Far away, someone was calling hogs to feed. “Damn it!” she cried, smacking the window sill.
“...And do ye ken, Nancy Dawson, honey?” sang Bethan under her breath as she arrived at Ugleeuh's old door with a tray of toad in a hole, cinnamon buns, tea and milk and a cheerful little vase of violets. She drew a breath and knocked. “Your Majesty?” she called. Certain that she heard a reply, she stepped in, wheeling her girth and tray through the doorway.
“You clumsy sow!” screeched Spitemorta, grabbing up her bed sheet as she brandished the Staff. “I've not a stitch on!”
Bethan was familiar with glimpses of naked young ladies, but the sight of the Staff froze her right where she was.
“You blithering idiot!” cried Spitemorta as she smelt the wonderful breakfast. “How dare you come into a queen's...” Suddenly she was thrown off by her loud rumbling stomach. She heaved a sigh, tossed the Staff onto the bed and wrapped herself in the sheet. “Very well. Leave the tray. But you're dead next time, sister.”
With a chatter of porcelain, Bethan set the tray onto the tea table, gave a tottering curtsey and stepped smartly out, closing the door. In the hallway, she steadied herself against the wall. “Oh my!” she thought as she set off to find Peredur, “Ugleeuh had nothing on her.”
Spitemorta sat on the bed and laughed until she picked up a bun and silenced herself with a thoughtful bite. “Hey,” she said. “She can cook.” She tried the toad in a hole. “She can indeed. Well. She's going to run the kitchen at the new castle.” She wolfed down everything that Bethan had brought and licked her fingers. “I want this for breakfast again. And she's going to be head cook. Yes she is.”
She still had not dressed, so she grabbed onto the Staff and in an instant she was wearing a black kirtle with brilliant red trim and hanging sleeves. “So what should I do today?” she said as she began sauntering about, brushing her hair. “It'll likely be four more days until Coel and his mercenaries get here with my Niarg construction gang.” She tapped a tooth for a moment. “Ha! I need to check on the new skinweleriou and see if my idiot gnoffs at Head got rid of Grandmother's cat. But I'll certainly need to come up with some
kind of saddle for the Staff. I'm never going have my legs go to sleep like that again.” She wound her hair into a bun and pinned it as she walked to the window. Peredur caught her eye, far out in the pasture, as he walked up to a cow who was licking her newborn calf. She watched him scoop up the calf and began walking, the old cow following anxiously at his heels. She gave a giggle of glee when he stumbled and nearly dropped the calf. She glanced down at the sun peg on the window sill. “I know! It's almost ten. Time to address the Loxmere-Goll part of my empire. I sure wish that I already had the new skinweleriou distributed to whomever the select nobility might happen to be in Niarg. If I had, I'd encourage the fools who have to pay a year's wage to get one out of the following batch of skinweleriou to turn in their arms as part of their payment.” She sat on the bed at once and rolled her stone ball out of its pouch.
***
After her address, Spitemorta tied up her skinweler in its pouch and dropped it into her bag. She missed the awed multitudes beyond the balcony of her throne room at Castle Goll. “A little trollish supplication might be just the thing,” she said as she picked up the Staff. She stepped into the hall, trotted downstairs and out into the glory of dandelions, wren chatter and bright sunshine. Bethan was on her knees, picking strawberries and didn't see her set the Staff in the air, mount it and lean forward to shoot away into the deep blue sky.
She didn't know exactly where Oilean Gairdin was beyond its being somewhere in the Jut of Niarg. But after some time, hurtling along the length of the Jut, she spied the remains of stone walls standing in a tumble of pink quartz rubble, surrounded by abandoned orchards and formal gardens on an island in the middle of Jutland Lake. “This has to be it,” she said as she settled her feet into the knee-deep grass and sat on her hovering stick, looking about. Grackles scolded, mobbing something in the crown of an apple tree. She dismounted and waded through the grass toward the ruins, pausing at an arbor to eat grapes. She saw no sure signs of trolls at all, but there were getting to be paths tramped flat in the grass as she neared the rubble. A striped blue lizard as big around as a pitchfork handle, vanished into the cracks of a stone fence. She stood, looking all about from under her hand. Over near a wall she saw bones. “Ha!” She hurried up her wallow through the grass to find a collapsed bedroom, overflowing the window sills with bones. Outside the broken walls, she now saw a good score of stone circles for campfires, most of them with live coals, scattered randomly about a courtyard littered with gnawed pieces of animal carcass and barefoot prints in the ankle deep dust. Presently she was hearing deep rumbling snores coming from every hole and recess that might protect from rain.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 168